Life goes on
by Raifire
Summary: Small moments in Shinji's life as he tries to deal with becoming a Vizard.


Life goes on.

He's heard that saying before but right now he beats his subconscious for thinking such things. He can't think of life, not on those terms at least, because he doesn't remember what it was like to live, not as a human, and he wasn't _really_ a human. _Nor_ was he a Shinigami, _nor_ was he a hollow; he had become something entirely different. He listens to the force of reality flowing from Urahara like vomit but he can't move. He questions his own sanity, for a moment, but the force of reality, once again, hits him in the form of his uncomfortable new Gigai. Inside Shinji fought against his guilt, he hated Aizen, hated himself, hated Room 46, hated his "all too clear" future. He hates and hates and hates till he feels his body is overflowing with bile and blood, then he hates again because he's not quite sure how to deal with this any other way. Outwardly he stares intently, listening to Urahara explain what exactly "hollowfication" is and how they were all going to escape Soul Society. He feels ill.

But they escape.

And… Life goes on.

Three weeks pass as they have tried to settle in to a new semblance of life. Mashiro and Kensei begin to argue, as they always tended to do, Shinji half listens. He begins to think of his own former Vice-Captain and his smug attitude the night he took everything from them… from him. Aizen… Shinji felt his reiatsu climb; he never thought that just a name, simple 5 letters or a thought, a smell, anything that would remind him of Aizen, would make him want to claw someone's face off. He turned and looked at Hiyori who must have been wondering what was wrong, since he has never been one to get so clearly upset over Mashiro and Kensei's arguments, or so she thought, she looked at him with an expression that screamed 'what the hell if up with you?'

"Nothing's wrong!" Shinji shouted, seemingly at no one, but inside he knows it's to himself.

"I didn't say anything, Idiot!" Hiyori shouts back argumentatively.

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"Then who the hell are you yelling at, dumbass?" She jumps to her feet, her hands firmly placed on her slender hips.

He walks into his room and slams the door, none of them dare follow they have all had their bad times while trying to adjust and they knew eventually Shinji would have his.

He fumbled in the back of this closet for his Former Captain's uniform, once in hand he stared at the back, 5th division seal proudly displayed. As he gradually crumpled it into his hands, he draws the cloth into his face. He would swear he could smell Soul Society, feel the sun of his face, and hear the sounds of his division. He inhaled deeply, desperately trying to capture a piece of what he had lost, but it had been far too long for that and any scent that would have been was long gone. As his legs slowly gave out, and his knees touched the floor, he silently cried, he wasn't going to beg for the impossible; things could never be the same. As the tears soaked the Former Captains uniform, Shinji was finally able to mourn his former life.

But… Life goes on.

It rained for about a month after that and Shinji wondered if he was so powerful that the heavens themselves mourned with him, but he quickly chuckled it off. Only egoists, like Aizen, would truly believe that, and he was nothing like Aizen. Nothing.

However… Life goes on.

Years later while looking in the mirror; he had a rare thought to the old days and of his old reflection in the mirror located in the Fifth division's quarters. There was so much that had changed between those two reflections and too much had happened between them for things to ever look the same. Still he did love to look at himself, and who wouldn't? Then the idea hit him, like so many other magnificent ideas before. His enigmatic grin appeared and distorted his features in a most wicked way. He raced to the other side of the room, grabbed his Zanpakuto, and raced back almost fearing to lose the moment. Again he studied the mirror this time with sword in hand. Grabbing half of his long blond locks, he sliced through the flaxen tresses, then he triumphantly released the locks to slowly fall like golden threads into the basin. He looked again, one side long, one side just at his chin; past meeting future in one simple manifestation. He fixated on the reflection for a short while and then severed the rest of his hair and past.

In that moment he moved on, with the realization that he was not totally giving up but not giving in either. And understood that his only regret was this life and death was not an option.

Because… Life goes on.


End file.
